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by Little Spoon (AlwaysTheLittleSpoon)



Series: Occasionally Domestic [8]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, Derek has a sense of humor, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Light Angst, M/M, Road Trips, Sexual Humor, Stiles Leaves Beacon Hills, Stiles Stilinski Can't Sit Still
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlwaysTheLittleSpoon/pseuds/Little%20Spoon
Summary: Sometimes home isn't a place. Sometimes home is a memory or a place in time and space that belongs only to you. Or sometimes, home is an annoying, hyperactive spazz of a person that makes Derek want to slam his head into the steering wheel.Derek wasn't going home, not really, because a single phone call brought home to him.





	

Forty-two hours stretched over four days. That’s how long Derek had been trapped in a tiny car with Stiles, and it was enough for Derek to admit that he should have ignored Stiles’ protests and sprung for tickets for both of them to fly because Stiles could not sit still. He fidgeted constantly. 

Stiles played with the radio, the electronic locks, the windows, the seat controls, the contents of the glove box, the map, the sunroof, and even Derek himself; tugged on his sleeve, tapped along to the beat on his knee, poked him in the cheek, played with his hair, and in one case, bit his shoulder. No amount of growling or fangs could stop him. It’s like Stiles wasn’t afraid of him anymore.

Derek had almost strangled Stiles when he’d demand they stop for “pee break” only two hours after leaving Beacon Hills. Four days of crappy diner food, crumbs on the seats, and scenic rest stops. Stiles had tried to convince him to drive down to the Grand Canyon, which Derek had pointed out would add an extra day to their trip. There had only been one point that had been non-negotiable: hotels. High-end, or nothing, and Derek happily footed the bill to sleep on clean sheets.

There was not enough money in the world for Derek to sleep in a low-end motel filled with the scent of other people’s deeds, deaths, and other indiscretions just because Stiles could afford the rate. No better way to spoil an already crappy day by laying down on a pillow that smelled like someone else’s semen.

But that was in the past. They’d just crossed the Hudson and were headed towards Derek’s loft apartment on the edge of the Upper West Side near Columbia.

After receiving Stiles’ call at the beginning of May, Derek had finally set foot inside the loft for the first time in five years. It had been Laura’s. When she died, her assets had been transferred into Derek’s name as the last known living relative. Peter had supposedly been in a coma at the time.

The call had been tentative. So timid and hesitant. At first, Derek hadn’t been sure it was really Stiles, but someone impersonating him, trying to lure him in, which had only been more worrying. He may have left Beacon Hills, but Derek still cared about his pack. Stiles in particular. The fragile pack human whose emotional damage rivalled Derek’s own.

Derek still wasn’t sure how it happened. One minute Stiles was asking him about New York and for advice on navigating the city and finding a place to live near Columbia. The next thing Derek knew, he was offering Stiles the loft and a new roommate.

Stiles’ face was pressed to the window to stare up at the skyscrapers. Occasionally he wiped the glass with his sleeve when his breath fogged it over. They were stuck in traffic, but Stiles was enthralled.

The only time Derek drove in the city was when he was coming or going. For the full moon, he would probably drive up to their old cabin upstate where he could shift and run. He’d been living there until Stiles had contacted him.

“This is so cool! I’ve never been to New York before,” Stiles said. He wiped down the window with his sleeve again and squished his nose back against the glass. “I mean, I went to DC during spring break, but you know, so not the same thing.”

Derek flicked on his blinker to change lanes and the taxi behind him honked. “I know. You didn’t stop texting me.”

“Hey! You love my texts.” Stiles whipped around and jabbed a finger in Derek’s direction, and Derek raised his eyebrows at him.  “Don’t lie.”

Derek rolled his eyes, and Stiles punched him in the shoulder.

“Jerk. Okay, so love may be a bit strong, but you liked it. Admit it, sourwolf” Stiles said, leaning across the armrest to nudge Derek in the side and wiggled his eyebrows at him. “You loved hearing from me.”

“Stiles, you once chronicled your first encounter with a bidet via text.” It had been amusing, not that Derek would tell Stiles that. It would only encourage him.

“It was an experience!” Stiles nearly smacked Derek with the back of his hand as he flailed about.

“One that I didn’t need to share,” Derek muttered. Shoulder checking, he wedged the nose of the Camaro into the other lane. He hated driving in the city.

“Well, fine,” Stiles huffed. He slouched in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. “Next time I do something epic and exciting, I won’t tell you.”

Derek clenched his jaw to keep from grinning because Stiles pouting was surprisingly adorable. “Good.”

“You suck,” Stiles muttered.

“It’s more of a chewing motion,” Derek shot back before he could stop himself. It had been an old comeback with Laura. The city was already starting to get to him, and they hadn’t even stepped out of the car yet.

Stiles gaped at him. “Did- did you just make a joke?”

Derek shrugged. “It’s been known to happen.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles exclaimed, fumbling for his phone. “I need to text Scott! Sourwolf’s got jokes.”

Derek lunged for the phone, snatching it right out of Stiles’ hand before the brat could even unlock the screen. Stiles made a strange strangled noise in shock before he planted a hand on Derek’s thigh and tried to climb over the armrest, while still wearing his seatbelt, to steal the phone back.

The battle was a mess of flailing limbs and sharp elbows at a stoplight. Stiles clipped Derek in the jaw which caused Derek to bit his tongue and split his lip. By the time the blood dripped off his chin, the superficial wounds were already healed.

Derek shoved Stiles’ face away from him. His skin was warm and his breath hot. The hand on Derek’s thigh slipped, and Stiles’ head hit the steering wheel. Stiles shrieked, and his head slammed into the roof when he jumped at the blast of the horn.

The light had already changed at the intersection. Derek shoved the phone under his butt and sat on it.

“Oh, come on,” Stiles said. He flopped back into his seat. “You know me better than that.”

Just as Derek shifted the car into gear, Stiles wedged his hand under Derek’s butt. It was weird. Fingers wiggled.

When they stopped at the next light, Derek grabbed Stiles’ wrist and growled at him. His eyes flashed blue and his fangs descended.

Stiles froze, eyes wide.

Derek dropped Stiles' hand and backed off. “Sorry.”

“No.” Stiles' voice cracked, a little hoarse. He cleared his throat. “No, it’s fine. I just… I missed this.” He shrugged.

Derek turned down a quieter side street and glanced back at Stiles. “Yeah?”

Stiles nodded. “Yeah.

Derek ducked his head and smiled. He’d missed this too. Whatever this was. He’d never made sense out of the complicated relationship he had with Stiles. They were packmates? Comrades? Friends? 

The truth was, Derek trusted Stiles. That was more than could be said for most people, even the rest of the pack. Time and time again, Stiles had proved himself. Risking his own life for Derek’s.

The car was silent until Derek pulled up to the curb.

“I’m keeping the phone,” Derek said, and climbed out of the car, taking Stiles phone with him.

Stiles kicked open the passenger door, making Derek wince at the harsh treatment of his baby. “Like hell you are,” Stiles shouted.

Slipping the phone into his back pocket, Derek stepped up onto the curb beside Stiles and looked up at the old building. “We’re here.”

The building was quaint. Old brickwork with ivy, wide windows, and a cobblestone walk to the stone steps that lead to the front door. Laura had been all about aesthetic. Derek had been sixteen at the time. Cute hadn’t been a priority unless it was going to suck his dick.

Stiles stared up at the ten story building, head tilted back and mouth slack. “Woah.”

Derek tore his attention away from the soft curve of Stiles’ exposed throat and busied himself with retrieving Stiles’ meager possessions from the trunk. He hadn’t brought much. A single worn duffel bag stuffed with clothes and his laptop.

“Woah?” Derek repeated.

“Yeah. Woah,” Stiles said. He shrugged helplessly and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “I mean, where’s the doom and gloom. The creep factor?”

Derek grunted and slammed the trunk closed. Shouldering the duffel bag, Derek thrust the laptop into Stiles’ chest and jogged up the front steps.

“Hurry up.”

Stiles was still standing on the sidewalk clutching his laptop to his chest and blinking up at the building. “What? Oh!”

The lobby was empty, but it brought back memories, like the time Derek and Laura had lost patience with the ancient elevator and opted for the stairs with twelve boxes of pizza at three in the morning. By the time they reached their floor, they’d already eaten two whole pizzas a piece.

Derek ran his fingers over the claw marks in the wood in the elevator from the time he lost control shortly after the fire. He closed his eyes and drew a shaky breath. They’d spent the night curled up together on the couch watching horrible B-movies under a single blanket that smelled like home.

A gentle hand on his arm brought Derek back to the present. Stiles watched him with a quiet expression of unadulterated understanding and acceptance. Not trace of pity. Stiles knew loss.

Tugging Stiles by the arm, Derek pulled him into a one-armed hug, burying his nose in Stiles’ neck and inhaling. Returning was harder than he thought it would be. He was thankful Stiles was here with him.

Timidly, Stiles curled an arm around Derek’s waist and propped his chin on Derek’s shoulder. It was new and different, but good. Like unlocking a new level in their turbulent friendship.

Most interaction in the past had involved slamming Stiles into various hard surfaces and heavy amounts of sarcasm. Gentle had never been in their repertoire, at least not since losing Boyd. Derek could still recall the warmth of Stiles’ hesitant hand on his shoulder.

The hinges of the painted red door of apartment 10A creaked and groaned as Derek eased it open. The gust of stale air made his nose twitch. Stepping back, Derek gestured for Stiles to enter first.

Stiles took a deep breath and marched into the apartment. He stopped dead center and turned slowly on the spot to survey the interior. The apartment was bare with a thin coat of dust. Derek followed at a more sedate pace, casually glancing around the large open room.

“Nice to see your decorating skills are up to their usual standards,” Stiles teased. “No hole in the wall. Classy.”

Derek dropped Stiles’ duffel bag at his feet. “Shut up, Stiles.”

Grinning, Stiles set his laptop down on his bag and jogged up the stairs to the single loft bedroom, disappearing from sight to explore the room they’d probably fight over later.

Wrinkling his nose at the tickle of dust in the air, Derek opened one of the large windows that overlooked the street below. He inhaled the burst of fresh air and sighed.

“Hey, sourwolf,” Stiles called. 

A few seconds later, Stiles’ head poked over the rail, and Derek raised an eyebrow at him as if to ask ‘what? and Stiles grinned down at him. 

“Welcome home.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> You can stalk me on Tumblr here: [Always the Little Spoon](http://always-the-little-spoon.tumblr.com/)


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